See me for once
by Budgiebear23
Summary: Sometimes, you can't fix what you've broken. Canada is slowly breaking down right when they begin to notice. Warning for self-harm, suicidal thoughts/actions, and hurtful self-talk.
1. Am I Making the Right Choice?

**Welcome to my *very first* fanfiction! Canada is going to take quite a beating here, so watch out! Warning for any self-harmer: I used my own experience here to write, although the whole razor thing is new to me. Trigger warning for violence and explaining razors. Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts and/or actions. Trigger warning for depression.**

**With that being said, go ahead and read!**

Canada sat in his usual spot, the countries around him seeming to ignore him. He usually tried to ignore the fact that he was, indeed, a forgotten country and worthless in everyone's eyes. Today, however, he just stared vacantly at the table that his arms rested on.

_Am I really this worthless, this ugly? Why does no one notice me? Maybe I was right. Maybe I'm no longer needed. America could easily take care of my people for me. It's not like I'm that good at being a country; if I was, surely they'd notice me._

And so he sat, contemplating his worth like he was an object. Every breath became ragged and uneven, and Canada slowly felt himself slipping into yet another panic attack.

_This has gotten worse each time… maybe I should get some help, or at least some pills…_ he thought to himself, wheezing quietly and coughing.

_I need to go home._

Canada never seemed to run anywhere. Maybe it was because he was used to not having anywhere to go, nowhere to be needed. Running seemed like a waste of effort. He crept quietly to the door, hoping to go unnoticed as usual so no one would see the tears in his eyes. America, though, saw a silhouette ghosting toward the door so he cut off England in the middle of his sentence and ran over to Canada.

"Mattie, where're you going? The meeting's just finished! Wanna get some drinks?" America excitedly yelled, his eyes lighting up as he waited for Canada to inevitably say yes.

"Um... Actually… I have some business to attend to tonight, so if you'll excuse me…" Canada squeaked out, his hand reaching slowly for the handle of the tall doors, "But thank you for offering."

"Wait a minute, Mattie! I thought we always went out after the meetings!" America pleaded, and then noticed the small tears forming in Canada's eyes. "Mattie, are you okay?" Canada visibly flinched at the sudden question. His gaze dropped to the floor, trying to answer but fearing the possibility of his voice cracking and giving him away. So instead, he nodded, clearing his throat in the process.

"Yeah, I'm great… I have to leave, text me later Alfred…" Mattie turned and promptly sped off toward his car. Alfred watched him go with sad eyes, hoping his twin wouldn't have any more problems.

Once Canada reached his basic maroon car, he sighed.

_America noticed me. That's only because I'm his brother, though, and nobody else ever cared..._

He let his tears fall over his cheeks this time, at the thought of Alfred. Alfred was the perfect country in everyone else's eyes. He was strong and brave and he never gave up. Canada was just a wimp… Canada didn't want to stay any longer at the risk of being seen, so he quickly unlocked his car and locked it immediately after getting in.

_Okay, you're fine, you're good, just drive home and stay there._

So he put his driving skills to use and got home in record time.

After he put his keys on their hook, he shuffled to the kitchen where Kumajirou was waiting for him with an empty bowl.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada, the one who feeds you. But I guess it doesn't matter anymore."

Canada sniffled lightly as he poured some basic chow into Kumajirou's bowl. Then, he left, forgetting to feed himself as well. Kumajirou watched Canada with concerned eyes as the nation took out his laptop and retreated to his room.

_I need some help. Serious help. I can't possibly go to therapy, at least not here, since everyone will find out their country is seeking help for his mental illness…_

Just then, Canada realized he was parched. He walked slowly to his kitchen and reached for the cupboard knob. When he went to get a glass, he accidentally dropped it, sending shards of glass to the floor. One sliced his hand. In that one moment, pain overruled everything that clouded Canada's thoughts. Then, the blood started to drip onto his grey countertop. After Canada successfully wrapped his hand, he looked down at the bloodstains on his counter.

_What a pretty… Color…_

He shook his head pitifully, sweeping the glass up and getting rid of it. He wasn't hungry, or mad, or anything. Just numb, and really hyper.

_Is this an adrenaline rush? Why am I feeling so hyper all of the sudden?_

He shrugged his feelings off, brushing his teeth meticulously and getting into bed. As he slipped blissfully into unconsciousness, his thoughts drifted to that feeling from earlier.

_Such beauty comes from pain…_

This thought jolted Canada awake. Now he was starting to feel scared. All of these violent images flooded his dreams, and now his own voice said such a thing? There must be something wrong with him; otherwise he wouldn't be having these problems. Was it so wrong to crave the pain? In that one, fleeting moment, he was free, flying, soaring up above everyone else.

_But how do I recreate that moment? I don't get into accidents every day, but… _ Canada jolted when he finally made the connection. He was probably considered an "emo" already, enjoying the sensation that came with the pain. But… If no one noticed, and he was sure nobody would… maybe he could get away with this. It made him feel better.

Canada sat with his well-used laptop in his room, bed freshly made and hair newly washed. His internet search, "How to cut yourself", was just popping up reminders _not _to do it, to **never ever get yourself into that**, and warnings about the risks. He had seen a lot of razors, appearing to be from shaving razors, though, and he refined his searching considerably.

"Damn it all. Why can't the internet accept that I'm _going _to do it no matter what they tell me?" Canada muttered to himself, getting lost in the results. A YouTube video came up, labeled exactly what he searched for: How to get blades.

He watched with morbid fascination as the boy got the razors out, how he seemed so joyful about a stupid blade. Then again, Canada wasn't much better. He himself was amused in a dark way about this horrible habit.

Instead of eating breakfast, Canada marched out to his car, smiling a little at what he was about to do. He had this giddy feeling every time he did something he wasn't supposed to do, and the butterflies in his stomach multiplied when he arrived at the supermarket.

_Okay, eh… I'm going to get these things and __**run **__out. No chit-chat!_

Canada's parking skills got him a spot close to the main doors. As he hastily walked toward the store, he pulled a cart along with him. The only problem was the recommended brand for this particular purpose was… the female version of a shaving razor.

_Shit! How the hell do I explain this if anyone asks?! No matter. I'm buying them. __**I'm buying them. That's final.**_

Razors in hand, he dashed toward the second section.

_A flat candle… Just like the video._

He spotted a cherry-red one and decided that his flag would decide for him. Tossing three of those into his cart, he headed towards the last section and threw in the metal object.

_Wait! I forgot matches! __**SHITSHITSHITSHIT I see Alfred. **__Why is he here?! No! Run away before he catches you!_

Canada made a mad dash for the matches at the opposite end of the store, the wheels on his cart squealing in protest at his rather rude cart-driving skills. When he finally caught his breath, he realized that either way, he was going to run into America. The registers were at the section he saw Alfred in.

_Fuck. __**No no no. I'm buying these. No matter what. I'm fine. I'm fine.**_

As Canada reluctantly trudged back to the front, he saw Alfred walking towards him, confusion written all over his face. Sighing, Canada plastered on a smile and waved at Alfred.

"Dude, why'd you run away before? I was about to talk to you!"

"Oh, I didn't see you…"

"Then why were you running…?"

"I forgot something," Canada said with hesitance. That was a stupid excuse no matter how you looked at it. Alfred took the time to look nonchalantly into Canada's cart.

"What's in there?" America asked suddenly, concern etching his features. America most likely figured Canada had gone nuts and bought the wrong razors.

"Oh, um, nothing, actually, I have to go now, so…"

"Wait Mattie! I'm gonna come over later."

"Oh, fine, when?"

"I don't know yet, probably in a couple hours…"

"Oh, okay, well, um, bye for now!" As soon as Canada turned away from America, the fake smile fell from his face. He hurried through the express lane and rushed out to his car.

_I only have two hours. I can get this done. I __**will **__get this done._

As he sped home, regretting meeting Alfred there, he thought about how to get it done fast. The video said it took "patience" and Canada was running out of patience lately. As much as he'd love to try to do this alone, it was recommended to have a friend help.

_No. I can manage on my own. I don't need anyone's help; besides, who'd help me?_

And suddenly he noticed the cop behind him. As he pulled over, he took out his license so he wouldn't have any trouble later on. The cop looked sad for some reason. The officer noticed the license in his hands already and smiled.

"You were going just five miles over the speed limit, so I'm going to let you go, alright? You take care, son."

"Thank you so much, officer," Canada said with true gratitude in his voice. As soon as he continued driving, though, tears filled his eyes.

_**Why do I always get in so much trouble?**__ Imagine how hard it is for everyone I know, to have to deal with me…_

Once Canada arrived home, he sped his way to the only place he felt safe using fire in: the kitchen. As he sat down to start, he realized it might be helpful to watch the video again. He sighed pitifully. With another elongated sigh, he trudged over to his room where he'd left his laptop. After grabbing it and its power cord, he walked back into the kitchen with a sudden feeling of excitement. He was really going to do this!

Canada struck the match quickly and lit the cherry-red candle with ease. His fingers were shaking as he pulled out the tools he needed and he almost hurt himself a few times. But, after about fifteen minutes, the razors were all his.

Of course, that wasn't the last step. Canada boiled a pot of water and dumped the charred razors into it. The water cleaned them and killed any germs. After he strained the water and let the razors soak in soapy water for about twenty minutes, he realized Alfred should be arriving soon.

_Shit. It smells like burning plastic in here, what do I do?!_

_Okay. Stay Calm. Stay. Calm. It's. Okay. _

_I'm just going to ignore the smell. And now I have to hide the razors. If Alfred says anything, I'll just pretend I don't smell anything. That'll confuse him for sure._

So, Canada cleaned up his house, spraying air freshener as he went. He was so giddy that he practically frolicked through his house, humming his national anthem on the way.

"..our home and native land!" sang Canada quietly as he gracefully moved the vacuum across the floor. "With glowing hearts we see thee rise, The True North strong and free..!" he sang a bit louder as he dusted his television.

_I forgot to hide the razors, _he thought suddenly. As he ran to get them, the doorbell rang.

"Just a moment, please! I'm... Um... Indisposed at the moment!"

"Are you okay, Mattie?!"

"M-hm!"

At this, Canada ran with the razors and hid them in his sock drawer for later use. Then, slightly wheezing, he trudged back to the door with weary eyes.

"Hello, Alfred. Come in, please," He said slowly, trying not to react to those concerned blue eyes that bore into his entire being. He stared carefully at the ground as he went to prepare snacks.

Alfred watched Canada with concern etched into his features. Canada wasn't looking so good lately, with his sunken eyes and pale skin, and it looked like he'd lost some weight. Each step seemed so painful for the poor honey-blonde.

_I wonder what he's not telling me… _Alfred thought to himself, eyebrows furrowing in stress. _But I'm about to find out._


	2. Get him out of the way

**Thank you for the wonderful feedback! It really made me happy. Thank you to hetaliasanguis, KitKat8965, and bluebacon for reviewing my last chapter. Getting your opinions helps me work faster haha!**

Just then, however, a breeze wafted over the room. Alfred noted the smell of both pancakes and some burning odor which was very unpleasant.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Mattie was having another panic attack.

_No no no no no! Why does it still smell like burning plastic?_

_I cleaned up so much! __**Why is it that I screw up everything I do**__? Alfred is going to notice. Maybe I can use the pancakes as an excuse…_

Matthew noticed his heart rate and breathing becoming irregular so he tried to force deep breaths out of himself.

_In... Hold for five seconds… Out… Hold for five… In…_

He heaved a sigh and heated up the maple syrup in the microwave. The odd thing was that he wasn't hungry at all, actually, and it scared him a little since pancakes were his favorite food. He looked down at himself and back at the food.

_I don't need any more pancakes right now, especially with the way I'm feeling… Maybe later I'll eat some._

So, with a grimace in place, he carried the stack of pancakes in one hand and the plates in the other out to the table where Alfred was looking around suspiciously. As Matthew struggled to keep his hands steady under the weight of the pancakes, Alfred suddenly made eye contact with him, keeping it with a very concerned expression. Matthew's face fell dramatically at the awkward gesture from Alfred. He gingerly set the pancakes down and went to retrieve butter and the now-warm maple syrup. Alfred looked like he was going to cry.

_Why is my brother pretending to be happy? I'm not the rest of the world. I don't forget him. I don't ignore him, do I? Have I not given him enough attention lately? Is that why he feels the need to be so… so reserved? Am I even a good brother?_

With this thought in mind, Alfred waited with an intense look in his eyes. Matthew was in the kitchen trying to breathe.

_Why did he look at me that way? It looked as though he was trying to stop me from killing myself! Although, at this point, maybe that's what anyone would do… but even so! I'm not that fragile. I can take care of myself and I don't need him anymore. Right…?_

So Matthew didn't even try to fake a smile this time. He just walked out with a mild, neutral expression. His eyes betrayed him, though, as he had deep purple bags under them.

When Matthew set down his maple syrup and the butter, Alfred snapped.

"_Why do you lie to us?"_

The question surprised Matthew. He wasn't lying, was he? He was pretending, but he never said he was happy.

"I didn't lie. I never said anything, so when could I have lied?"

"You're always lying about how you feel, Mattie."

"Why does it matter to you, Alfred? I do what's expected of me as a country. I do exactly what I'm told. I'm quiet, I know that much, but that doesn't mean I'm unhappy! You always do this. You run in expecting something and you're wrong this time. I'm fine."

"Fine. But don't come running for help when you actually need it."

For the first time ever, Canada was craving that pain. He knew he could do it. America had to leave, though…

He looked over at America, who had finished the first six of the pancakes already. His eyes began to fill with tears. America, at least, wasn't affected by this bad aura.

"Okay Mattie, I left six pancakes for you. I'll be back later." with that, America was out the door. Canada finally broke down in tears. His violet-blue eyes seemed liquefied with all the water dripping down his reddened cheeks.

_What have I done? I am pushing my brother away from me. I'm a horrible, horrible person._

He immediately got up and went over to his sock drawer. His fingers fumbled with the cloth he had wrapped the razors in as tears continuously leaked from his eyes. Canada looked down at his arm in resignation. He wasn't going to get better unless he did this. With one quick, robotic movement, he slid the razor across his arm horizontally at the very bottom of his wrist. To him, though, it wasn't enough. He did it again a little more up, a little deeper, and the more he sliced it, the better he seemed to feel. The pain was so intense that Canada couldn't feel anything else. It made him happy.

_This pain is so real. It's right there on my arm, plain as day. This pain… I can see it._

_Red is such a beautiful color..._

Canada got up and went to his bathroom, locking the door tightly in case Kumajirou decided to venture in like he sometimes did. He got out some white gauze-like wrap to cover his numerous cuts. Then, he got out some disinfectant for his wounds.

_Oh god, I've really done it this time. Now I'll have scarring! At least weather here is mostly cold. Otherwise I'd really have a problem…_

_But back to the main problem, those cuts…_

_Ugh, they're still bleeding… Wait… This is too much blood. Just how deep did I even cut?_

He looked down at his arm in shock as the blood seeped out continuously. The red, though beautiful, was becoming scary at the rate it was leaving his body. In a rush, he poured the disinfectant over the ragged cuts and quickly wrapped them in a tourniquet-like fashion to prevent any more blood loss. As he looked at himself, he noticed he looked a lot paler than he did earlier today…Or actually, a lot paler than he'd ever been. The veins on his body looked dark in comparison to the stark white color that painted his body.

Canada couldn't deny it any longer: He was growing sickly. And it would start to affect his work if he continued this way. He decided to browse the web for a few hours, searching for ways to make up for the lost blood. The silver laptop's glow illuminated his pale, ghostly face as he scowled.

"Damn it all… I don't have any of these things…"

The answer was to eat _liver _and to eat a lot of vitamin c. Canada had none of these foods. In fact, at the moment, he was starving from the lack of nutrients available in his house. However, Canada didn't quite care at the moment. All he could think about was the overwhelming dizziness that threatened to pull him under.

_Damn. I can't do this. I need some food, and fast… and no more pancakes. Maybe being healthier would help me heal faster._

But when Canada tried to get up, he passed out back onto his bed. Just before he lost consciousness, he thought of something very scary to him.

_**I forgot to lock the door.**_

When he woke up, he saw specks of black and white making his vision blurred. His forehead felt very warm, as if he had a fever. Then he felt the hand holding his own hand tightly.

"…Alfred?" Mattie croaked, feeling very groggy.

Alfred's face looked so sad at the moment. Canada couldn't quite focus enough to really tell what he was thinking, but by the basic facial expressions on him, he was overstressed. Canada felt guilty for making America worry, but also mad because America shouldn't have to worry about him.

"Mattie…"

"Yeah?"

"I'll ask again. Why do you lie to us? You're obviously not feeling well, so why didn't you tell me?"

"I… I feel fine, Alfred. There's nothing to worry about."

"You're my brother. My other half. Stop lying to me. I can tell you're sick."

America gently moved Canada to the other side of the bed and tucked himself in. His eyes shone with tears as he tried not to look too closely at his now-asleep brother. He had purple bags under his eyes and his skin was nearly translucent.

_I can't let this happen to Mattie, _America thought sadly.

So America left once he thought Canada was soundly asleep. Canada, though, was very good at acting.

_No one will interfere with this. I am doing what I want. You cannot stop me, Alfred. As much as I love you, I will not let you ruin this. So I will do __**whatever **__it takes._


	3. He's really stubborn, isn't he?

**Welcome back to my story! Sorry that I was a little late on updating. I've been at an encampment, working for 9 hours Sunday, 12 hours Monday and another 11 hours later today. I will do my best to keep up my schedule! Thank you to hetaliasanguis and bluebacon for reviewing my last chapter! In response to those reviews:**

**hetaliasanguis: I know, right? I'm planning some more things in the future but I can't say. I'm writing this as I go so nothing's definite~ But still, America will definitely need to step up to the plate on this one.**

**Bluebacon: Don't worry, updating is easy since this is really all I do anymore ;-;**

**With that being said, go ahead and read!**

Canada woke up alone, as he expected. After his thoughts got too confusing, he just dozed off from complete exhaustion. The growing pain in his head told him that he was pushing himself too hard just from being conscious. Canada didn't mind the pain. It told him that he was still alive, awake, aware of his surroundings. It told him that he hadn't slipped yet; that there was still hope flickering inside of him. Canada's bliss was short-lived, however, because he soon was clutching at his head to try to numb at least some of the pain.

_My dumb brother is making me even __**more **__stressed! Damn it all! I can't function under these conditions! Damn this stupid headache...! I'll just try a shower. Who knows? Maybe the steam could relieve some of these symptoms._

Canada realized with a shock that this was what he was becoming: a mean, short-tempered nation that didn't accept help at all. He flung his maple-leaf decorated throw off of him and sulked toward the shower. As soon as his head fell under the sweltering stream of water, his headache dissipated into the steam above him. He cracked his sore neck and stretched his arms out. When he shampooed his hair, the frilly, fruity scent filled the air. Canada breathed in the familiar scent immediately, quickly rinsing himself off. His body wash was maple-scented, matching his own natural scent completely. After he rinsed himself off, he just stood there, breathing slowly. His arm began to sting and he glanced down to see that he had put his arm directly underneath the steady stream of water. He looked away in shame.

Once he was out of the shower, he decided to re-wrap his cuts. Wincing, he encased them in clean gauze and pulled on his turquoise sweatshirt while still in the bathroom. His blue skinny jeans were a struggle to put on, but Canada was determined to be fully clothed when he left the bathroom just in case Alfred was home. When Canada peeked his head out from behind the door, though, nobody was in his room. He crept carefully through his room and into the living room, looking around to see Kumajirou pawing at his feet.

"Who are you?"

"I don't even know anymore."

"Hungry."

"Fine, then, let's get you some food."

Canada turned to see Alfred standing in the doorway. Alfred, having heard the entire conversation between Kumajirou and Canada, tried to brush it off as just normal interaction between them. Deep down, though, he knew that Canada was worse than he had originally thought. When that thought came to Alfred's mind, he looked at Matthew more closely than he had the day before. Matthew's face had turned slightly pinker, but Alfred guessed from his dripping hair that it was from the steam of the shower. Canada wore his usual sweatshirt, but something was slightly off in his movement. He didn't use his left arm as much as his right and he winced when his shoulder bumped into the refrigerator. Alfred couldn't identify what was going on with him. He guessed that it was from a lack of nutrients and the weakness was making him bruise easily. Canada hadn't eaten at all since Alfred had been there the day before.

Canada hummed his national anthem as he poured more chow into Kumajirou's bowl. Alfred stood there, watching his beloved brother look so weak to just a few pounds of chow in his bag. Canada turned around hurriedly and glanced nervously at his brother. That's when America noticed that Matthew was standing just slightly askew, so that his left arm was behind him from a miniscule angle. Alfred was surprised at how easily he noticed such a trivial and somewhat useless fact about his brother. In fact, Alfred had usually ignored his brother as much as he could during the time they spent together, and it was irking him now that he was faced with a sudden interest in Matthew.

"Mattie, why are you standing like that?" Alfred asked with a curious tone, avoiding any seriousness until it was needed. Alfred then noticed Matthew shift so that his arms were equal, although it still seemed like he was contracting his left arm.

"I'm not doing anything, Alfred. Please, _please_ stop making this nonsense up."

"Matthew, what's going on with you lately? You've become so... so… pale, and so weak. You struggled to lift even that stupid chow you were feeding Kumajirou! And yesterday your eyes were struggling to stay open. I know something is wrong, Mattie!"

"Why? Why can't we go back to the way it was before?! Why can't you ignore me and leave me the _hell _alone? I'm fine. I'm perfectly, wonderfully fine!"

"Mattie…"

Alfred walked over to Matthew, enveloping him in a hug. Although Alfred's arms were tight around his ribcage, Matthew sighed in resignation and leaned hesitantly against Alfred's chest.

_I will do anything for you, Matthew. Anything for my other half._

But Alfred only hugged him out of pity, only out of sheer sadness at the other's suffering. At least, that's what Matthew thought. So Matthew pushed him away weakly, protesting that he needed his rest. Alfred noticed the oncoming storm suddenly and thought of an idea to keep an eye on Matthew.

"Hey, Mattie, it's raining. Can I crash here?"

"Um, yes, just a moment. I'll get the spare room ready. Hold on, please…"

With that, Matthew ran off to the spare room, flinging a spare comforter on top of the quilt that decorated the bed's surface. Meanwhile, Alfred twiddled his thumbs absentmindedly, trying to ignore the nagging sensation that he should sleep _with _Matthew to see what he was really up to late at night. Maybe it was insomnia… Or a disease?

When Matthew returned from the spare room, out of breath already, Alfred asked a daring question.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Matthew, who had learned many terms from Alfred, took this the wrong way and blushed a deep scarlet.

"M-Maple leaf…. Um… No thank you…?"

Alfred didn't look at his face, and he only heard the rejection.

"Um… Why would you want to sleep with me, Alfred?"

"Well, I thought maybe you were having nightmares again. You're always so weak to your thoughts…"

Matthew started. Then, he mustered a laugh from somewhere unknown to him and sighed as if breathless.

"Yeah, I guess so! Well, off to bed now, Alfred!"

Then, Matthew sprinted into his room and his hand plunged into the sock drawer.

_You need this you need this you need this._

_Alfred is right. You are weak to your own thoughts. No wonder he ignored you._

_This is what you are. Weak. Pathetic. And worst of all, you're weak to __**yourself**__. Such a disgrace to other countries! _

_**NO STOP IT STOP IT! IT'S NOT TRUE, IT'S NOT TRUE!**_

"S-Stop… It…" Matthew mumbled to himself as his arm and the razor met again for the second time. Blood dripped down his arm and onto the white carpet below.

_You can never make me stop, you idiot. I am you. I am the true voice of your thoughts.__** You will never get rid of me.**_

_**NO NO NO PLEASE JUST STOP! MAKE IT STOP!**_

Again and again, his arm met the loving steel. Sharp, meticulous, unforgiving. It was the pain that brought him back into reality. The pain brought him closer to the truth. He sniffled pitifully as the dozen cuts dripped blood. They were horizontal, straight across his pale, ghostly arm. Then, he trudged to the bathroom, wrapping his arms in the white gauze, cleaning his razors, wiping up and spraying the floor. After his sweatshirt fit snugly around his wrist once again, he walked out of the bathroom. Alfred had come into his room and was sitting on his bed. His hands were fumbling nervously with the black buttons on his jacket.

"Mattie, can I _please _sleep here with you? The spare room is scary."

Matthew blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. The dizziness had gotten a lot worse since he had last cut himself. Suddenly, he swayed on his feet and leaned heavily against the tall dresser table that sat next to him.

"Sure, Alfred! Come on!" Matthew tried to sound friendly but in reality he sounded pathetic with his fake happy voice. Matthew basically dumped himself into the bed, slipping into blissful unconsciousness quickly. Alfred stayed up a little longer, watching his brother start to twitch his eyes in his sleep. Alfred then noticed the tremors rocking Matthew's fragile body. Alfred didn't know what to do. Matthew had never struggled with severe nightmares before, or if he had, no one had helped him, and he wasn't sure what kind of nightmares he was even experiencing.

Alfred watched as tears dripped down Matthew's pale cheeks, hoping there was something he could do but also not knowing what Matthew was upset about. It frustrated him to no end to see his brother suffering. All he could do was stand there and watch.

"Mattie, Mattie, Mattie, if only you knew how much I treasure you. You're my brother. My other half," Alfred mumbled quietly. He wrapped his arms around Matthew, not knowing that the truth was hidden beneath the few layers of cloth that he held close.

_I don't know if I can save him._


	4. Just Let Him Go

**Hello~**

**Welcome back.. Haha.**

**New chapter, new twists and turns for poor Matthew. Read ahead~**

Matthew woke up in a jolt, the tears already dried. Alfred was still holding him with an iron grip as he tried to stretch. Then Matthew noticed the arms constricting him from any further movement.

"Maple… leaf…? Alfred?!"

Alfred, at hearing Matthew's voice, slowly opened his eyes and groaned quietly. Matthew began to squirm a little under the pressure of Alfred's arms on his torso.

"Alfred… Um… Can you please… Get off me?" Matthew whimpered, trying to squeeze out of Alfred's hug. Alfred blushed slightly at the realization that he was, indeed, holding Matthew even after the hours of sleep. Alfred quickly pushed Matthew's chest to get away from him, but in doing so, he accidentally pushed too hard and Matthew began coughing.

Matthew clasped his hand quickly over his mouth to muffle the noise, but his shoulders shook with tremors even after he stopped.

"Mattie, what's going on? Are you sick?" Alfred asked, guilt seeping into his tone as he realized he'd accidentally hurt Matthew. Matthew simply shook a little at the question and looked away hurriedly.

_No, no, no, no, NO. Don't you dare say anything. If he found out, what would happen?! He'd probably send you away to a hospital!_

Matthew attempted to change the subject by asking Alfred if he was hungry. Alfred responded with his stomach growling loudly in protest.

"Well, let's get you some pancakes, eh?" Matthew chuckled, forcefully pulling himself up out of bed. His body protested weakly but Matthew ignored the pulsing aches, trying to get to the kitchen successfully. He used a hand as leverage as he stumbled awkwardly toward the counter. What he didn't know, though, was that Alfred was following him. Matthew half-expected the American to stay in bed like his usual self and wait to be fed.

Suddenly, Matthew stumbled slightly, bumping into the wall. His shoulder blade seemed to contract as he fell, making him crunch over on himself, breathing quite heavily and whimpering lightly. Alfred reached out to Matthew, gently running his hand over the area that cramped while pulling Matthew up. Matthew cursed lightly and continued walking, throwing a mumbled 'thank you' as he went. Alfred could only look at the hunched figure and frown, wondering what could have caused such muscle cramping. The truth of it was, Matthew was not moving much anymore and his muscles had begun to shrink and deteriorate. Matthew was simply dying, from the inside out. His soul was beginning to implode and he could feel the rush of feeling to his chest every single time someone said something even moderately offensive to him.

Alfred didn't know what to do with Matthew. If he tried to stay any longer, Matthew would be angry at him again.

But if he left, Matthew would likely get worse and start to really fade.

If he visited, he could just be seconds too late.

Alfred was beginning to see why people had such a hard time dealing with these problems. Matthew was becoming a serious issue to him. Not in the sense that he didn't care about him, but in the sense that Matthew would make him break if he died.

Alfred was suddenly faced with three options: staying and risking getting kicked out for good, visiting every so often and not knowing what was really happening, or letting Matthew deal with his own problems. Alfred guessed that Matthew wasn't going to let Alfred in after all of this time.

_This is my own fault, isn't it… did I do this to him? Did I really do this? To Matthew, my own brother? Why?_

Alfred realized that he had to leave, and now. After he ate he would get out. He would visit sometime later on. But for now, he couldn't do it. He just couldn't face Matthew. Not after this.

Matthew had finished the pancakes, leaving six for Alfred on the table. He left to get himself a glass of water; he wasn't hungry at all. His hands trembled as he reached up, but he remembered the shattered glass that in turn shattered his shaky fate. He closed his eyes in blissful remembrance, feeling that same shock of before. He snapped his eyes back open to find Alfred at the table, scarfing the pancakes quickly and wiping the table before looking at Matthew with piercing blue eyes. Alfred knew he was betraying Matthew by leaving.

Yet, Matthew didn't mind. He was a burden to Alfred.

"You should get going, Alfred. Arthur might be worried by now. And the World Meeting is tomorrow, so you should get some rest."

Alfred sighed heavily, trying to decide what would be right.

Matthew had already gathered Alfred's coat and glasses. He silently handed them over and gently pushed Alfred to the door. Opening the door, he placed the key for Alfred's car into his gloved fingers.

"Goodbye, Alfred." The ominous and short parting was very frightening to Alfred. As he drove away, he noticed Matthew turn around hurriedly and shut the door in his rearview mirror.

_Weird…_

Meanwhile, in the house, Matthew sank to the floor.

_Not important enough. You're nothing. You're nothing. Accept your worthless fate, you stupid worthless country. You don't deserve this life. _

_Look at your brother driving away. What does that say about you? If you were worth hearing he would have pushed further, tried more to pull the truth from you. But did he even try? Or did he just leave like you knew he would?_

_You. Are. Nothing._

_You know exactly what you need, Matthew._

_Feed the urge. Just one more time._

Desire spread throughout Matthew's arms. The desire to be broken.

Matthew couldn't resist the temptation.

_That's right, you horrible monster. Do it. Why don't you just end it while you're at it?_

_**Wait. I'm not suicidal. I'm not. That is the one thing I refuse to admit. I will never give into that urge. **_

_**I'm not suicidal; I just need an escape, a distraction, a numbing.**_

Matthew crawled to the couch, pulling himself up weakly and wobbling to his sock drawer. He pulled out the stained razor, quickly just getting it over with. But it wasn't enough.

_**Alfred doesn't care.**_

More and more red slashes lined his arm, overlapping with the previous ones. He knew that this was what was truly saving him.

Blood continued to drip onto the white carpet around the dresser, staining his once-pure household with his horrible habit.

He looked down in horror, realizing that he had cut too deep once again.

The blood was scary now rather than hypnotizing and mesmerizing.

Cleaning it would be nearly impossible, but at the moment Canada was worrying that he would pass out from this blood loss. The dizziness was back tenfold and his eyesight was going blurry.

He stumbled to the bathroom, holding what he could of his arm in a vice-like grip. His arm hurt so badly now that he had snapped back into reality. Into the cruel reality that he had to accept.

His arm as soon wrapped tightly in white gauze and his eyesight had deteriorated even more to the point of everything blurring.

He didn't bother cleaning up the stains; he'd have to do them after he was recovered from this bout. As he slumped into the bed, Kumajirou happened to enter the room. His eyes widened at the blood and the exhausted Matthew. The bear slowly walked up to Matthew, slipping into his arms easily.

"Sorry."

* * *

The next morning, Matthew woke with a dreadful headache and a sore throat from crying in his sleep. As he entered the shower, he didn't bother taking off the bandages. He was scared that if he did, the blood would flow again.

_World Meeting is today…_

_Can I even go like this? Am I stable enough to go?_

He sank down to the floor of the shower, holding himself weakly. He didn't feel like he could go anywhere in the condition he was in.

Just then, though, a knock was heard at the door.

_My clothes…!_

Canada ran out in his shorts and a sweatshirt to open the door. Who he saw, however, surprised him to no end.

**Thank you for reading~**

**Special thanks to:**

**hetaliasanguis~ You have no idea how much it motivates me to see you review this. I feel like hearing from you makes it worthwhile to spend so much time on it. Thank you.**

**bluebacon: YES. But sometimes, I get a little carried away with my mushy-gushy amount. Tell me if I do.. Haha!**

**DawnSketchthepony: It's great to hear from you~ and yes, me too. My life dream is to hug Matthew and cure him of his sadness. **

**Next chapter reveals more and more. Alfred seems to have given up on Matthew. Let me know what you think of this decision; good or bad? Brotherly love is limited between these two souls. **

**Make sure you review. It lets me know what **_**you **_**want, as readers. Although I may go my own way, it helps to know what you think. :3  
**


	5. Bittersweet Guest

**Welcome back. Feel very very lucky. I risked my life to get this computer.**

**Lol. Anyway, I have been having nightmares and stuff so I write to distract myself. Have fun~~~~**

England waited at the door impatiently, wondering what could have happened to the little boy that he once knew. Alfred told him to check on him because it was stressing him too much to see his brother so weak.

The door suddenly swung open, revealing a ragged-looking Matthew. The first thing Arthur noticed was that Matthew was wearing his sweatshirt in a peculiar way: he held the edges of the sleeves in his fingers, pulling the sweatshirt as far down his arms as he could possibly manage. Then he noticed the purple bags under his weakened eyes, and how his movements were slow and steady even though he wasn't doing anything stressful. Matthew's face looked pale and ghostly, despite the dripping water from a hot shower that he had just taken. The pigment in his skin seemed to have disintegrated.

Arthur's normally calm and stern face melted into concern. He cursed himself for not visiting all these years, or even just making Francis go and see his developing country. Arthur knew that it was stupid to dote on Alfred rather than be even partially concerned for the weaker and more fragile country. But hindsight was always 20/20 for him. Looking at the country he once knew, he tried not to cry. The eyes that had once held hope, hope of being seen, hope of being loved… They were dead.

The only thing holding Arthur back from leaping into that household and finally helping him was the aching reminder from Alfred: don't rush things and don't get too personal.

Arthur knew better than to assume he had a good bond with Matthew. In fact, he knew it was the opposite. Matthew tended to hate Arthur deep down, and although Matthew hid it well and no one ever seemed to notice, Arthur always noticed a lack of sympathy for him.

Matthew recoiled from the movement of Arthur stepping forward a little.

"Um… Please come in… I'll make us some pancakes, if you'd like… Oh, and you like tea… Here," Matthew timidly invited the Brit into the house, trying not to appear too frightened. Matthew knew from his instincts that Alfred had somehow caused this. His smart thinking led him to believe that Alfred had informed Arthur of his bizarre and uncharacteristic behavior and was too shocked to properly deal with it.

Arthur simply walked into the house, not answering Matthew but silently picking the house apart, looking for any mistakes, any errors, any spots that had been left with the truth. Matthew, though, was exceptional with hiding his imperfections. What he forgot, though, was that he hadn't cleaned up the bloodstains on his carpet yet.

Matthew was standing in the kitchen, flipping pancakes and heating up maple syrup, when he felt the shock wave. It was like a wave of nervousness that Matthew understood immediately. England knew something. He didn't know what to do, especially since England could tell everyone.

What England was worrying about was the peculiar bloodstains in front of Matthew's bedroom dresser. There were tiny spots of blood lining the way to the bathroom tile, where it had been cleaned.

_How did these stains get here? Are they even blood, or is this something else entirely? What if Matthew's been hurt somehow? _

England walked out to the living room while Matthew was experiencing yet another panic attack in the kitchen.

_Fuck. FUCK. I can't breathe, oh no…_

_Okay… In… Out… In… Out… In…_

He heaved a sigh and continued preparing the snacks as the water boiled and he heard the somewhat-familiar whistle. He tried to pour the water with one hand but failed miserably, the water hitting his hand with blistering power. In response, he didn't scream yet a noise escaped his throat weakly as he recoiled from the heat.

Luckily, Canada's sleeves were long enough to cover his hands. He didn't want England to notice anything suspicious.

Then, Matthew realized an eerie fact: the World Meeting was today.

England most likely came to escort him and make sure he didn't try to skip the meeting.

_FUCK! I can't go like this… But I can't get rid of that stupid Arthur either! Why is he here? Why isn't he leaving? _

_Oh, yeah, I forgot to give him his pancakes…_

And with that, Matthew ignored the pulsing aches and pains throughout his arm and picked up the platter of pancakes carefully. He slowly grabbed the maple syrup in the other hand and moved quickly and hurriedly to the living room, where he set the pancakes down and went back to finally finish the tea. The water was soon boiling again and he prepared the tea quickly, moving out again and setting down the cups carefully. Arthur watched with wary eyes, trying not to help Matthew to make it too obvious that he knew something was wrong.

Matthew's injured hand trembled slightly from the increasing pain that spread up into his wrist, and over his cut. Suddenly he gasped, revealing the pain that he still tried to mask.

Arthur immediately put down his tea and fork and reached across the table to touch Matthew's sleeve gently. When Matthew flinched from the contact, Arthur got up and sat next to Matthew.

"Matthew, what's wrong? I know you know why I'm here. Alfred talked to me. But that doesn't change the fact that I do care about you. Although I have slacked off many, many times in trying to help… I wish you would open up to me, Matthew. No one has to know anything about this, so please, **please **listen to me when I say that I'm here now. I won't leave again," Arthur implored, taking Matthew's hands in his own, eyes widening when Matthew squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered a little. Then Arthur looked down and saw the burns on Matthew's hand.

"Matthew, how did you get these burns?" Arthur's finger traced up Matthew's hand until he reached the sleeve blocking the way. He tried pushing at the cloth but Matthew held firm, pushing down the fabric with his fingers.

"Matthew, what's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing, I just don't need your help with this. I can disinfect and treat it myself."

"Matthew, show me your arm. Did you get burns there too?"

"I don't take orders. And no, it just burned the back of my hand."

"_Matthew. _If you do not show me your arms I will personally drag your ass to the doctor. Arms. Now."

"Why are you so obsessed with my arms? There's nothing special about them, and I don't understand why _now, of all times, _you decide to step in for Alfred and play hero."

Arthur's head snapped up at the insensitive comment. He looked mad but still upset at the same time.

"Look, I'm genuinely concerned about you, Matthew. You've never acted this rebellious before, and-"

"Because I've never had something I want to rebel against. And now, people suspect me of doing bad things and I'm sick of it."

"Look, the World Meeting is today and you need to attend. I'm here to cordially invite you to the meeting. You can ride with me."

"I'm just going to meet you there. Alright? I can handle this myself. I don't need a ride."

Suddenly, Arthur took Matthew by surprise and grabbed his wrist, loosening his grip when Matthew yelped in pain.

"Why are you in so much pain?! WHY WON'T YOU TELL ME ANYTHING?!"

"Because… You never… Cared… All you care about… is Alfred…" With that, Matthew began to pant heavily, slipping into a major panic attack.

"Matthew?"

Matthew continued to pant, starting to hyperventilate and shiver uncontrollably. He got up from his seat and staggered over to his room, shutting the door loudly.

"Matthew, open the door. Let me help you!"

His pleads went unnoticed as Matthew was already dragging the razor deeper and deeper into his ragged flesh, trying to fix his anxiety.

_He doesn't care about you. He cares about __**Alfred.**_

He rinsed himself completely in the sink, wrapping his arms once again and sighing in relief that he could cut off his blood enough to stop the bleeding.

He walked out, awkwardly pushing his arm into his side, and opened the door hesitantly. Arthur looked at him with fearful eyes.

"What did you just do?"

"Inhaler…"

"Oh. Are you ready to leave then?"

Matthew closed the door for a moment and grabbed a single razor, putting it in his sweatshirt pocket.

Then, he walked slowly to Arthur and got into his already unlocked car after locking his front doors.

Arthur stared for a moment at his left arm, noticing how the hand looked unusually purple and how the arm lay limp against the side of his car seat.

"Matthew, I care about you. Just as much as I care about Alfred. Please don't worry. You're dear to me."

"Maple... Leaf…! Um, thank you, Arthur…"

With that, Arthur pulled into the lot and parked the car. As Matthew was about to unbuckle his seatbelt, Arthur leaned over and kissed Matthew's forehead.

"It'll be alright love. Don't worry."

But when Matthew entered the room, he wanted to leave immediately.

_I hate this life I'm living._

**Thank you to all that reviewed! It's great hearing from you.**

**bluebacon: You will most likely never know how much it means to hear from you each chapter. You keep me motivated, thank you~**

**hetaliasanguis: I. FREAKING. LOVE. YOUR. REVIEWS. AND. YOUR. FANFICTIONS. I seriously crave the moment when I get a notification from you.**

**Literally. Crave.**

**dizzyS: It's great to hear from you~**

**Me too but that's all part of the suspense mwahahahaha~**


	6. Unexpected Interference

**Welcome back to my world of the darkness…**

**My nightmares have gotten the best of me and I'm now relying almost purely on caffeine so I hope this is in English.**

**Special thanks to these lovely reviewers:**

**Anon (Guest): Why thank you~~ and yay, I hoped I didn't screw it up so it's good to know you liked it!**

**Marie Nomad: I am so glad you like it! I was thinking along the lines of the self-mutilation to affect both his self-esteem and his country's self-esteem so I tried to incorporate that into my story~ and I think sometimes the people who love you the most can't deal with seeing you suffer. So this could go either way!**

**TooBitter: *hands tissue* I have those moments with fanfiction, when you just.. Can't stop crying! D:**

**I've always thought about America and Canada's relationship as "not what it **_**could **_**be" so it's good to express that! Also, England is a favorite and it's partially accurate historically so I thought it'd add some more spark to the story. Thank you! I definitely will :D**

**bluebacon: *le high five* England woop woop! I love him, because he has more than one side to him~ :D**

**Okay go ahead and read!**

* * *

Alfred was sitting in his usual spot, looking directly at Matthew. The tension rose as Alfred looked curiously at Arthur, who shook his head just slightly. Matthew gritted his teeth and sat down, remaining unseen by almost every other nation. Arthur was whispering with Alfred in the far corner of the room, looking at Matthew unabashedly as they talked.

Arthur then walked over to France, where he sat down and looked him dead in the eye. For Matthew, this was a shock because England tended to avoid France as much as he possibly could. Francis suddenly perked up and paid more attention, and Matthew wished he could hear.

"I'm telling you, Francis, this boy needs your help. No one even cared about him before this, hell, you didn't really ask about him once he grew up. When was the last time you visited him?"

"Oui, I haven't paid much attention to Matthieu the last few years, but I have good reason…"

"Oh, really now? While you've been off doing whatever it is you waste your time with, Matthew has fallen dramatically. Have you even looked at the state of his country? He's losing hope. His people are losing hope. They're not patriotic anymore, Francis. And he hates himself more than you could ever imagine. I don't know what happened, but I know he's not going to make it if you don't get your ass in gear and get into his life again."

Francis took this information badly, his face falling and his eyes widening. He had _raised _Canada. And now Canada was falling.

"What has happened to Matthieu? Who made him this way?"

"It's all of our faults. We have ignored him for so many years that I think he just doesn't even believe in himself anymore. Alfred told me that Matthew doesn't care about his health. He reported that Matthew didn't eat the entire day and a half he stayed over, but continued to feed Alfred. He also said that Matthew didn't attempt to change clothes or do anything but help Alfred while he was staying. Alfred said it made him uncomfortable to be pampered like that and he wanted to make Matthew more comfortable so he left."

"What happened today so far?"

"I went and picked Matthew up for the meeting. Matthew's hiding something and it has to do with his arms, I just know it. He burned his hand making my tea, but when I tried to inspect his hand and his arm, he yanked his sleeves down and refused to show me. I've been very concerned."

"Have you forced him to show you?"

"No, I figured it was just personal and I don't know him well enough to force him."

At this point, Germany called the meeting to order and the countries began speaking. As Alfred got up to speak, Canada decided to make a break for it before France got a chance to swoop in and corner him.

_Time to leave. I can do this._

Canada quickly drew his sleeves as far down as he could manage and crept to the door, opening it and dashing out.

* * *

Alfred had momentarily stopped speaking, watching Matthew dash out the door out of the corner of his eye.

Francis and Arthur turned around as well, sparking all of the countries to stare.

Matthew wanted to crawl right into the floor at the attention. The problem was that the other countries only saw a moving door and the carpet shift. Alfred left the podium and ran out after his brother, Arthur and Francis trailing behind him.

Matthew was better at sprints than Alfred, reason being that he was used to being beaten up by people mistaking him for his brother. A staircase was up ahead, and Matthew put his skills to good use by jumping down the first flight, hand on the wall to balance himself. Alfred looked as though he had just seen a ghost.

Matthew was scared out of his mind that someone would catch him. His desire to destroy himself was overpowering his need to be with his brother.

So he continued his acrobatic maneuvers until he reached his car. Alfred then caught Matthew by the shoulder, slamming him against the side of the maroon vehicle.

"Matthew, stop running from us! Tell me what is going on! NOW!"

"You'll never see it, Alfred. Even if you caught me, what could you possibly do to help? You're never going to help me. Never. I refuse to let you help, even if you could."

Francis was watching alongside Arthur at the far end of the parking lot. He had never seen such rage in Matthew's beautiful eyes. The kind, compassionate boy he raised appeared to have left his body. In his place was a broken soul.

Although weak from the lack of food and blood loss, Matthew managed to struggle against Alfred as he hugged his brother close.

"Don't you get it, Matthew? I need you. I love you. You're the only one that understands me. You are my other half. Why don't you love yourself the way I love you?"

Matthew shook his head violently.

_No. He doesn't love you. No one loves you. You're all alone!_

"Alfred, please just stop. I'm fixing it on my own, okay?"

"I'm not going anywhere. Do you want to go to dinner with me?"

Matthew's cheeks were dusted pink at the kind gesture from the usually-obnoxious Alfred but he slowly nodded, eyes misted with tears.

"_Onhonhonhonhon, _you wouldn't mind if Arthur and I tagged along, right?"

"Matthew, is it alright with you if we came along?"

Matthew simply shrugged and nodded slightly. Alfred looked at Matthew with concern. The agitated man seemed to have suppressed his anger somehow, and it frustrated Alfred to see him belittle his own feelings that way.

On the drive to Olive Garden, Matthew kept quiet and just paid attention to the road. Everyone was a little nervous to see Matthew that way, but no one said anything regardless.

Matthew was currently thinking of ways to cut in the bathroom without being noticed. He shifted purposefully and felt the stab of the razor into his side.

_I just need to find a bathroom and cut there. It's easier that way anyway and no one will follow me._

Matthew pulled into the lot and let everyone out. He clicked the lock button on his way to the doors, sensing Francis and Arthur behind him. Alfred was standing next to him, looking nervously at his brother.

_He knows that I'm about to do something… and it almost makes it more fun this way._

After getting their table and ordering drinks, Matthew excused himself to the restroom. His heart was pounding and his stomach was full of butterflies as he reached into his pocket and retrieved the razor. The door to the stall slammed shut.

_Just one or two today. I can't risk losing too much blood._

With a mechanical motion, he dragged the razor across his wrist three times, then four times, then five, and then the blood dripped onto the floor as he sighed. The anger seemed to wash out with the blood.

_Something's wrong with me…_

Then, he leaned down and wiped the blood up with some toilet paper, cursing as he realized the blood had stained the grout. Quickly, he re-wrapped his arm in the familiar gauze and staggered suddenly from the large amount of blood lost.

His head throbbed painfully and he realized he had to go back to their table.

As he walked back, a waitress stopped him.

"Are you alright, kid? You don't look so good…"

"Yeah, I'm fine.. Just need some rest."

Then he sat down next to Alfred at the booth. Francis finally looked at Matthew and blanched. Matthew's skin was translucent and sickly, and his arms hung limply at his sides. His eyes appeared dead and emotionless and there were large purple bags underneath his eyes.

The worst part, though, to Francis, was that he looked like he had finally given up.

Suddenly, Francis piped up and declared a vacation for the next day.

"…Where?" Matthew timidly asked, fiddling with his sleeves as he waited for the answer.

"My home, of course, Matthieu! We will **all** be sharing a room together, too!"

_Uh-oh…._

**I love how I always end with these types of things. I hope I'm not too annoying by doing this to you!**

**Canada: Yeah thanks a lot eh. **

**I WANT MAPLE SYRUP AM I THE ONLY ONE CRAVING IT?!**

**Anyway just come back and read when I update because I get lonely sometimes hehe..**

**Until later!**

**~Budgie**


	7. Don't Pretend You Care

**Welcome back. Sorry I haven't updated in like, forever, and sorry also that this is an incredibly short chapter with nothing good haha.**

**Sorry also for any parts that may make little or no sense because I wrote this while high on caffeine. The nightmares, remember? **

**Leave a review please? :D**

**Also remember that anyone having problems can PM me at any time. I'm not going to ignore you.**

**Go ahead and read~**

Canada stiffened at the sudden idea of a vacation. Alfred looked over at his brother, who was currently holding his left arm tightly in a vice-like grip. Matthew was applying intense pressure to his arm. He felt very fuzzy in the head from stress and blood loss, and he was trying to sharpen his thinking a little from the pain.

Francis looked over at Matthew. The boy he knew from so long ago seemed deflated, deadened, mentally decayed. Francis knew he contributed to Matthew's downfall. He had never really raised Matthew well. He was always out with people that didn't like children, and slowly he grew apart from his little one. Matthew grew into a solitary being. The only real company he welcomed, or even tolerated, was seeing his brother. Alfred's cheery attitude used to lift Matthew's spirit somewhat, but after he snapped into his own mental oblivion, he disliked anyone in his personal space or even in his home. The proof was obvious on his arms. He hated himself and everyone around him.

France, however, didn't see what was going on. He really thought that Canada was pretending to hide something to make people pay attention to him. Canada realized that France was almost glaring at him, and flushed in nervousness.

_What does he see? Is he noticing something? Did I not hide it well enough?_

As the countries ordered their food, Matthew looked absentmindedly at the menu. He felt nauseous, like he had eaten something bad and couldn't get rid of it.

After ordering a glass of water and 2 pancakes, Matthew let his mind drift off into his own personal paradise, glancing down at his phone in curiosity.

_Has anyone texted me in the past year? _

He touched the power button hesitantly, waiting for any notifications.

None. Just as he had expected.

Tears built up in his lifeless eyes, making him see the world in a blurred state. A song drifted into his head as he tried to appear happy.

_Save some face, you know you've only got one_

_Change your ways while you're young_

_Boy, one day you'll be a man_

_Oh girl, he'll help you understand_

_Smile like you mean it_

_Looking back at sunsets on the East side_

_We lost track of the time_

_Dreams aren't what they used to be_

_Some things sat by so carelessly_

_Smile like you mean it_

Matthew let his eyes drift closed again as he tried to clear his head. His water arrived, the sound of the glass colliding with the table making him open his eyes and Matthew just stared at it, trying to remember what he was supposed to be acting like in front of his 'friends'.

_I need something. But I can't remember what it is._

Matthew felt a sudden headache and squeezed his eyes shut again. But when Matthew tried to open his eyes, he found that the task was much harder than he had expected.

"Matthieu?"

His eyes snapped themselves open, barely conscious and yet hyperaware.

"Sorry, I'm fine. I just need a little rest."

_Keep making excuses. They don't know how to help you. It's better off this way._

France looked at Matthew questioningly, like he had expected Matthew to try to get more attention. Instead, it seemed he really was hiding something. At this point, Arthur jabbed Francis in the ribs, trying to hint at the sudden change in Matthew. It wasn't sudden to Matthew, though, because he had been depressed for months now. The sudden change was really the self-harm, which he had fallen into quickly. The dark tendrils of obsession held him now.

Matthew couldn't stop thinking about cutting at this point, and the thoughts plagued him until his eyes felt like they saw the red in his mind.

His hands began shaking uncontrollably as he thought about his options for the vacation. He could either stay inside and fear the possibility of being found out, cut anyway and risk any reactions, or tell them right now and let the rest go.

He chose to go with what he felt. If he wanted to cut, he would, but razors wouldn't be allowed on the plane.

_Shit. Without razors, this whole plan falls apart._

_Wait…_

_Pencil sharpeners have blades, right? If I took a pencil sharpener and a sketchbook on the plane, I could deconstruct the sharpener…_

_But that isn't allowed as a carry-on anymore, is it?_

_I'll just pack it into my regular luggage and buy some tools once I get to France._

_This is so complicated. I hate travel…_

Their food arrived, effectively cutting off Matthew's thoughts. His pancakes, drizzled in maple syrup and dripping butter, looked absolutely disgusting to the poor Canadian. He wanted nothing more than to throw them away and cut instead. In fact, he wanted to cut more than he wanted to breathe right about now.

His eyes were locked on the sweet cakes in front of him, but he couldn't move to the fork. His hunger for food was no longer there, replaced with a burning desire for cutting. The crave began right at the source, tingling with a tangible itch that nearly drove Matthew mad. Shivers ran down his back and sides, making him tremble. Alfred noticed the lack of appetite from Matthew and stopped eating his burger momentarily.

"Matthew, why aren't you eating?"

The blunt question made Matthew stop thinking about his urges and finally look at Alfred, his eyes beginning to focus once more on the scene around him.

Matthew looked down in disgust at the steaming food, bringing his fork down and cutting up the pancakes. Then he actually had to eat some.

He slowly brought the fork to his lips, forcing the sweet food into his stomach even though he knew it would make him sick. The hunger just wasn't there anymore, but it wasn't like he didn't have anything to thirst for. The crave for cutting was growing by the minute even though he had just harmed half an hour ago.

France looked at Matthew with curious eyes as the poor country seemed to have to force himself to voluntarily eat.

"Matthieu, do you not like the pancakes?"

Matthew met his eyes by accident for a millisecond, the pain clearly visible. Realizing his mistake, he quickly averted his eyes and continued eating his pancakes. Luckily, Francis didn't push the issue when Matthew responded weakly.

"No, they're fine. I love pancakes, you know that."

England sat at the opposite side of the table, noting Matthew's movement. His arms seemed tired and frail. The simple movement of eating exhausted the poor country.

He finished a single pancake, pushing the plate away slowly and sighing as he picked up his glass. The sound from the ice in his glass startled the Canadian, and he flinched before downing some of the water.

"Well, eh, I should get home and pack…"

Francis immediately panicked at the sudden statement from the Canadian.

"Non, non, you have to stay and chat! Why are you leaving so soon?"

"I have… Other business to attend to at home. Meetings, and stuff, and I have a ton of paperwork after that, and I need to feed Kumajirou. Oh, you may not remember him. The bear I have… Is Kumajirou… Anyway, I really have to leave now… Where are we flying out from?"

France blinked at Canada. Did he really just act like everyone had forgotten Kumajirou? Speaking of which, did he really think that people really forgot him? They ignored him, sure, but they didn't really forget him!

"Matthieu, we're flying out here, in your home. And I need somewhere to stay for the night, so if you have a spare room, I'd like to stay."

"Actually guys, I'm the hero so I booked a hotel room, but it only has two beds. France, you're with me. Arthur, go home with Mattie."

"Please drive behind me to my house, then, eh? I'll set an alarm to wake you, and we can drive to the airport together."

_Dammit. I need to be polite without pushing my limits. But how am I expected to hide this in my house? If they need something from the kitchen, I'm dead. And if they need some clothes, they'll see the blood on my shirts, and the sock drawer doesn't have a lock yet. FUCK. The bloodstains are all over the carpet! I forgot to clean again._

_Alright. I'll just go to the store and buy some food on the way home._

"Actually, I need to make a stop on the way home. You can come with me if you'd like. I'm buying some supplies and stuff." Matthew said quietly, as the countries got out their wallets.

Matthew and the others paid for their food and walked out, Alfred getting into his fancy red sports car, Francis getting into his white car, and Arthur getting into his forest green car.

Matthew turned the key in his ignition, ignoring the eyes watching his every move. As they pulled out of the lot, Matthew tried to think of the list he had imagined for the trip. He knew he had to get first aid supplies like his trusty white gauze, and some new antiseptic solution.

He just couldn't explain the supplies, and that was his current problem.

_They're going to know. But I don't know if I really want to even hide it anymore, especially if they care about me. But at the same time, I'm saving myself._

_This is the right thing to do, isn't it?_

**How was this chapter?**

**bluebacon: HEHEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHE. Family sleepovers are the best, aren't they? :D**

**WhatTheFuzzlecakes: Why thank you~~~ I love hearing that!**

**TheSlayerGirl: Me too. But, France can be very compassionate when sad. So I'm not sure haha!**

**hetaliasanguis: I hope my mind will have France be nice but I'm really hoping for this to work for America. I mean, he wasn't a very good brother :c**


	8. Murmurs in the Language of Love

**WELL I'M BACK AGAIN! Hopefully you didn't miss me, or maybe you just forgot about me like everyone forgets about Canada. **

**He's not schizophrenic, it's self-talk. Which I'm pretty sure a lot of people experience, from my research. **

**Well, go ahead and read!**

* * *

Matthew was an excellent driver, which impressed Arthur because he thought Matthew was shy in his driving as well as his personality. When Matthew and Arthur turned into the lot to the supermarket, Matthew began to think of excuses for the plethora of medical supplies he would need. Matthew would try to hide some of the supplies underneath the food he planned on buying.

Arthur got out of his car slowly and walked to Matthew's side as they entered the store silently. Matthew grabbed a cart and began walking toward the grocery section, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the notifications again.

Matthew picked up drinks and junk food for Arthur, ignoring the pang of guilt at himself for not being a good guest.

Then, he slinked to the first aid and health center, dumping three rolls of gauze into the cart. Arthur walked behind him slowly, watching his purchases curiously. The gauze seemed odd to him, since Matthew didn't appear to be injured.

In fact, there was no obvious damage to the Canadian.

Arthur got concerned when Matthew also dumped in antiseptic solution to the cart. As Arthur turned to ask Matthew why he would buy first aid supplies, he realized that Matthew was checking his phone.

"Did Alfred text you, Matthew?"

"Oh, no… He has never texted me. I'm just checking the time."

It was a lie. He had secretly hoped that someone, _anyone _would text him and make him feel like he was wanted. But sadly, no one really even acknowledged him, even through text messaging. Matthew put his phone in his pocket, taking the cart up to the register.

_I'll buy a pencil sharpener while I'm there. I don't need one right now anyway, since I have my razors._

Arthur trailed behind, contemplating whether or not to pay for Matthew. However, Matthew had already taken the express lane and was sliding his card back into his wallet. Arthur gaped at Matthew's speed, then realized that Matthew must be phobic of situations where he may have to actually talk to people. Matthew let a single tear drip down his cheek as he left the store with Arthur. He finally realized what a worthless person he really was.

_**You're just looking for attention, aren't you? Just like France thought of you. You're nothing but an attention-seeking freak! **_

_No, I'm not! I would never tell anyone!_

_**But you contradict yourself by purposefully looking weak in front of them, and you bought gauze again with England standing right there!**_

_I just… He won't ask about it! HE DOESN'T CARE._

Canada lightly sniffled, trying to stop the noises that would give him away. It was too late, though, because Arthur looked over to see Matthew sniff and wipe his hand at his eyes, pushing his glasses up as he did so.

Arthur tried to sound upbeat when he asked, "What's wrong, Matthew? Did someone say something to you?"

_No, _Matthew thought. _I'm doing this to myself._

"No… I just had… something in my eye, is all…."

"You know you can tell me, Matthew. You can't keep this locked up forever."

"I'm telling the truth, Arthur."

Arthur knew he couldn't get anything else from Matthew at the moment, but he knew he had to find a way to get the information out of him.

But Arthur knew better than to confront Matthew in public. Matthew hated being outside of his emotional box. Arthur simply walked with Matthew to his car.

Matthew sighed deeply as he unlocked the car and pulled open the trunk. The bags were heavy enough that Matthew had difficulty moving them. Arthur glanced at the way Matthew's arms were shaking as he carried one bag in both of his hands.

Then, Arthur decided to help load the car before he left to his own vehicle. Matthew, at this point, had fallen victim to his own mind yet again.

_**You are nothing. Nothing. You're worth what you give to the world, and you've done nothing productive your whole life!**_

_**How can you even live like this?**_

_**No one would care if you died tonight. England would probably laugh at you!**_

_I know. I know that no one cares, all right? Stop plaguing my mind with the truth. I want a few hours of peace so I can pretend while England's at my house. I just need to keep my life a secret. No one needs to know. This is my safe haven._

Canada slowly got into the car, blinking back more tears. He had more plastic shaving razors at home, and he knew that tonight, he'd have to get more razors. It was dangerous enough to use the ones he had with Arthur there, but he was beginning to lose himself to the adrenaline that came with danger.

Addiction was quickly taking root into Matthew's mind. The adrenaline that came with cutting and danger were what fueled him into being blissfully reckless.

He forced himself to drive slowly and carefully while England followed behind him. England watched Matthew as he pulled into his driveway, opening the garage door quickly and pulling in to the spot.

Matthew unintentionally listened for a few seconds as the radio played some music quietly. He had been concentrating too hard to realize the quiet, peaceful sounds.

_Now you're walking back_

_To a place you call home_

_But you feel so alone…_

_The same hurtful hits_

_It's your darker place_

_In your virgin ears,_

_The remarks they make_

_If they, if they really knew _

_All of those things that you do in your room…!_

_To hide the pain…_

Matthew winced slightly as he turned the volume down and turned off all the lights, getting out after removing his key.

_**You knew it when you heard it. If they knew, they'd hate you even more, though. That's where you're wrong. Don't think they'll pity you for doing this to yourself. That's the point. You did this to yourself. Deliberately.**_

Matthew opened his door, waiting for England to follow. England hesitantly followed suit, stepping as quietly as possible into Matthew's house once again. Matthew's home had achieved a personality much like Matthew's own: average, strong, bold yet very beautiful.

The entryway was painted a silvery grey color, making his golden hair shine in the dimmed light. Matthew's shoulders hunched in on themselves pitifully. How weak he was.

_**You're nothing. You don't deserve this life. Why don't you give yourself to America and let your body waste away?**_

_**Even England doesn't care about you. You noticed it too, didn't you?**_

…_**.**_

_I can't do this anymore. _

Matthew walked into the kitchen with his bags, keeping himself composed just for now. His arms shook from the weight being placed on them.

Arthur followed, taking a bag and emptying its contents onto the grey countertop. He sighed lightly as he saw the medical supplies strewn across the smooth, cold surface of the counter. It looked pathetic to Matthew, like he needed to have help healing the things he did to himself.

And that was the point to Matthew. He did this to himself.

Matthew began preparing tea for Arthur, taking out the chips and candy as he waited for the water to heat up. His hands shook as he placed two bowls on the counter, pouring the candies and chips into the bowls and heaving a broken breath, as if he was holding back a sob.

England looked at the kitchen table, noticing it only had two chairs, and he sadly assumed that only one was used. So, England sat down across from Matthew's cup and watched him make tea like a pro. Canada welcomed England's influence on his culinary experiences, and often liked to drink tea to soothe his nerves, like England did. It was a common trait that Matthew wished would lead to outside meetings for tea. However, England preferred to spend time with France and America. The four of them could easily be a compatible group of friends, but Canada was left out.

Canada blamed himself for this, thinking that his personality was too bland. In his mind, it was all his fault for not being good enough for them.

England saw Canada's face fall as he prepared his tea, masking it as he turned around and brought the two cups over.

"Here, eh… I got what you like, black tea with milk. Just tell me if it's not good…"

"Thank you, Matthew. It's better than that bloody git's stupid Coca-Cola that he continues to shove at me every time I visit. This is why I prefer your place, Matthew. You have the combined tastes of the French and the British, which makes you uniquely refreshing. It's a pity America won't learn from you. He just dumpstea into the harbor!"

Matthew couldn't help but giggle at this, holding his fingers over his mouth as he did so. England noted his adorable behavior and smiled.

"I think your British influence adds to your charm, you know that?"

"Well my French language adds that smoothness that Francis has, but I can't pull it off. My French sounds really broken, actually…"

"Let me hear, then!"

"Um… What do I even say in French?" Matthew asked, giggling lightly and thinking of how natural his French came out of his mouth. If he got agitated, he would sometimes switch to French without even thinking.

"Just say something. I want to compare your French to that stupid frog's pitiful excuse of the language of romance!"

Matthew cleared his throat, letting his true thoughts go for once. Without thinking, he uttered a sad thought in the silky language.

"Mes secrets ne peuvent être partagés, mais votre bonté me réchauffe le cœur. Vous soulevez vraiment mes esprits, Arthur."

Arthur gaped at Matthew momentarily as Matthew blushed. French was one of the most beautiful languages in the world, and Matthew spoke it with a certain flair unlike any other.

"Matthew, that is probably the best French I've ever heard. Would you tell me what that means?"

Matthew decided to mess with Arthur, and so he let out a classic "Francis" laugh.

"_Onhonhonhonhon, _go ask Francis~!"

"Bloody hell, that sounded like a better version of Francis!"

"Well, I do try sometimes…"

"Say, Matthew, do you want to watch a movie together?"

"Sure, but is it by any chance a scary movie?"

"Well, I was thinking of Harry Potter for tonight…"

"I have all the DVDs… Let's go watch some!"

Matthew grabbed the bowls of snacks and rushed out to the living room.

England chuckled lightly under his breath.

_You seem perfectly normal. Are you hiding something at all?_

* * *

**Translation: My secrets cannot be shared, but your kindness warms my heart. You really lift my spirits, Arthur.**

**BAMBAMBAM. I MADE YOU AN EXTRA LONG CHAPPIE JUST BECAUSE I'M LATE. BY THE WAY, SORRY ABOUT THAT SO UM LEAVE ME A LONG COMPLAINT OR SOMETHING!**

**England: You never update on time, just like your usual self…**

**Me: Shut up or I'll cut you out of the story! YOU HAVE NO POWER HERE LOLOL.**

**Review responses~**

**bluebacon: hehehe. Matthew's a sly one, like me. He could probably maneuver his way out of any situation, but we'll see. England is genuinely concerned this time!**

**kittycatpony: Sorry about the update tardiness~ Hopefully it's worth it?(:**

**TheSlayerGirl: Matthew's full of feels ;-;**

**TheLastOfUs: You're like, a super good reviewer! And I always add the feels in these for some reason lol. Hopefully I didn't make everyone who read this cry because I don't have that many tissues…**

**But here's one *hands tissue***

**MyPatronusisGermany: A COOKIE?! YAY! I love cookies. And cakes, and pancakes, and pop, and pretty much everything that's super bad for me…**

**WELL HOPEFULLY I'LL SEE YOU GUYS NEXT TIME WHEN YOU REVIEW AND PS**

**Reviews mean the world to me but if you are having trouble and you need personal assistance just message me. I'd be more than happy to help you out. **


	9. Mr Teapot and his little teacup

**I'm back~!**

**Again, let me know how I'm doing. CORRECT ANY ERRORS I MAKE IF YOU CAN, BECAUSE I WANT TO FIX ANY PROBLEMS IMMEDIATELY!**

**Review responses:**

**bluebacon: I'm really glad I get to hear from you every chapter. It motivates me!**

**JayflightCrows: EEEEEE I LUHZ YOU YOU'RE AMAZING. I like your profile picture too. Hehe. :D**

**TheLastofUs: I freaking laughed so hard I spit out my pop when I read yours it was like lolol.**

**I don't know xD and YESSSSSSSSSS IF YOU KNEW IS THE BESTTTTT**

**WhatTheFuzzleCakes: I GET ANOTHER COOKIE OMG I LOVE COOKIES 33**

**FanFictionRaterandReader: I will listen to those for the next chapter. I'll PM you for more songs if you'd like to make recommendations for bands :D**

**kittycatpony: *hands tissue***

**KitKat8965: JUST DID YOU MADE ME ACTUALLY WORK FOR ONCE :DDDDDDDDDDD**

**Okie you can read now~~**

Matthew began to doze off during the fourth movie, eyelids fluttering weakly. His violet orbs appeared hazy, and his long eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as he slumped over onto England's shoulder. England flinched involuntarily at the sudden contact from the Canadian. Canada had become fairly withdrawn lately, both physically and mentally, and Arthur thought he was hiding something. So why was he suddenly making contact?

Arthur waited several minutes before turning down the volume gradually, so as to not startle the poor boy with an absence of noise.

_Poor chap… he's so exhausted lately… is there anything I can even do to help him?_

Then, he gingerly touched the fabric of Matthew's sleeve. The skin of his arm had grown sensitive to the touch and so Matthew shifted slightly in response. England winced at this. He had been extremely cautious of his actions, which could only mean what hid underneath the cloth was bad. It was worse than he could have ever thought; worse than what he expected of the timid boy. Matthew was always sensitive to pain, but now the sensitivity had turned to suspicious movements. Any touch of his sleeves was forbidden to anyone other than himself, and he was adamant on the belief that he was doing the right thing. The one thing he was missing, though, was that he was being watched every time he was out with "them". He told himself that they were just pretending to care.

So England paused while Canada shifted slightly, and then resumed his careful movements. His fingers toyed with the edges of Matthew's sweatshirt sleeve, then pulled up the edge to his wrist. He saw white, and was momentarily confused.

_Why was his wrist covered in white? How much of his arm is covered in this?_

He gingerly touched the white, realizing it was gauze immediately.

_Why does he have gauze wrapped around his arm?! What the bloody hell is going on?_

Canada flinched, coming back to reality fast. His tender wrist had felt the soothing gesture to be very painful, and Matthew had snapped from his oncoming nightmare into a disastrous reality.

"Matthew, you bloody git, why didn't you tell me you were injured? I took care of Alfred well in his youth. I could have bandaged you up!"

"I am a grown man, Arthur; I think I can handle myself…"

"Alright, Matthew, and I'm sorry you haven't been feeling well. I know I don't show my feelings easily and that I'm insensitive to you, but I want you to know that I care about you. And… and… I love you, Matthew. Same as I've always loved you, ever since I saw your eager violet eyes that day. Your little twin, he lived with me, and I'd think about you, worrying about you and Francis. I know your upbringing wasn't the best. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for everything, actually. The more I try to show I care, the less it seems to show, my little teacup."

Matthew started at this. His eyes welled up with the unshed tears of a neglected child. The same child who stayed strong in his room, hungry and depressed from the lack of a parent, his _Papa, _who had gone out yet again with some woman who could never replace the love of the little, innocent soul waiting patiently at his home. He showed fake affection for his _petite fleur, _the one he promised to care for. After all, he knew how much England truly adored children, deep down. He raised them to be their own unique character, but France wanted a little obedient dog. He resembled a beaten puppy, coming back after being beaten and mistreated over and over. Matthew turned out to be what Francis had always wanted: a quiet, timid, phobic young man.

The noise from Canada sniffling startled the Brit. He looked down in shock, realizing with a shock that Matthew's childhood was not what he had originally thought. Matthew, lost in the memory of his childhood, clung to England pitifully, breathing in the scent he had always loved—a familiar scent, one from his hazy childhood senses. It was a mixture of England's natural musky scent, and the scent of tea leaves that found its way into Canada's nose. He sighed contentedly, leaning his head against England's chest weakly.

"I…remember…this…smell…from before…."

That was the broken reminder of the past for England. His arms curled themselves around Canada, holding him close.

_I knew I should have gotten him into my care so much sooner, but what could I have done? France would have objected to a switch in guardians. I want to heal these wounds on his heart…_

England set the remote down, wondering how heavy Canada really was. He had no clue, in all honesty.

He prepared a deep breath to haul the Canadian, but found the breath extremely useless. Canada practically soared into his arms.

_He wasn't eating, after all… could it be anorexia?_

Matthew's legs swung weakly as England carried him bridal-style to his room. As much as it embarrassed England to carry Canada in such a manner, it was apparent that it was very much needed.

As England tucked Canada into bed, he reminisced in the memories of Canada's visits as a child.

"_Mr. England, Mr. England!" _

"_Yes, Matthew, dear?"_

"_Can't I stay with you for a while? I mean, just for now?"_

"_I'm sorry Matthew, but Francey-pants over there won't let you get away so quickly, will he?"_

_At that, France walked over to Matthew with a fake smile plastered on his face._

"_Onhonhonhonhon, my petite fleur, always running away from me! I will always take good care of him, don't you worry Mr. Teapot."_

_Canada struggled to get free, and when he did he ran to England. England crouched down and enveloped him in a warm hug. _

_Matthew loved how England smelled. It was like one of his favorite teas, and he smelled like the pine trees. It was a comforting scent. France was always doused in perfume and smelled like cough syrup to the Canadian._

_England should have taken him home that day. But France had already swooped in and brought him back before he could say anything._

_France wasn't a horrible caretaker, though. When he was __**home**__, that is. If he was out with a lover (which was quite often), he forgot about his little one back at home._

_Alfred let that information slip in his childish innocence. England, upon hearing about France's mistreatment, ran to his home in hopes of finding Matthew alive. He was still growing, and countries needed extra care in their youth._

_England kicked down the door when he found it to be locked._

"_Matthew? Are you there?"_

_A small whimper was his only reply. He ran to the nearest room and opened it. There, in the corner, was Matthew. He had begun crying for the fiftieth time that day, and wiped at his eyes pitifully._

_When England held out his arms, Matthew ran at him and buried his face deep into his chest. England didn't mind the salty tears soaking through his shirt. Matthew was safe._

"_Where is France, little one?"_

"_Papa went out with a pretty girl and hasn't come back yet…"_

"_Would you like to come back to my house for a sleepover with Alfred?"_

_Matthew's eyes lit up. He nodded almost frantically and squeaked happily._

_England took a long look at the Canadian. Even then, he was much too thin. Canada didn't find eating that important, so he usually just ate a meal whenever he got the chance._

_The Brit took Matthew's hand and walked out of that wretched house._

Matthew stirred in his sleep. Arthur wasn't sure what to do, since he had never heard that Matthew had nightmares.

Tears began streaming Matthew's face as he shook.

Arthur, thinking that it was probably about time to sleep as well, just pulled back the covers and got into bed with Matthew.

Matthew calmed considerably when England wrapped his arms around the Canadian, holding him close. He could hear Matthew's heartbeat begin to slow and relax. He sighed in relief. If the Canadian had much more anxiety, he'd likely have a panic attack.

England sighed. He wished so badly to be able to fix what he had neglected to do.

_I wish I had helped him earlier…_

**Well, well, well, did you like this chappie?**

**Hopefully you did, because I really spent forever on it.**

**I apologize for my tardiness again. OTL**

**Drop a review and hopefully I'll hear from you again soon!**


	10. Kumajirou Speaks

**Hello again... I'm so terribly sorry. I have had pretty much the worst two months of my entire life, with my birthday right in the middle of the chaos. As I tried to write, I would break down in tears and have to wait again. Again, let me know if you need assistance; I have hotline information and resources to help you out.**

**I worked through it. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me what I did wrong here~**

**Review Responses:**

**akanobara: Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well (:**

**JayflightCrows: Thanks v/v I don't think it was that good~**

**WhatTheFuzzleCakes: Well thanks ahaha.. I love me my ships *glomps back***

**TheLastofUs: *grins evilly* I'm glad you like it… *hides in tree***

**KitKat8965: Aw thanks~ And I'm glad you like it.. I hoped you would!**

**kittycatpony: But.. the suspension.. XD**

**Maddeline Kirkland-Bonnefoy: I'm so sorry to hear that ;-; please let me know if you want to talk or anything.. And I'm glad you like it. I try my best to make it worth the read…**

Canada woke lazily to the sound of running water. In a daze, he cuddled Kumajirou closer and nuzzled his ears. Kumajirou, startled by the sudden gesture, made an adorable _eep _sound and wrapped his fluffy little arms closer around Matthew.

"Who?"

"I'm Canada…"

"No, silly, the one in the shower!"

"That's England. He's going to accompany us on our vacation."

"Oh. And Canada?"

"Yes, Kuma?"

"Why do you bleed?"

Matthew froze. His bear was unusually perceptive, being a nation pet. It was frustrating to Matthew at times, that he could form sentences and be fairly punctual in his eating schedule, yet forget his very existence at the same time. It was like he didn't _want _to remember him. Matthew interpreted this to mean that Kumajirou hated Matthew, and only stayed to be fed and nurtured. Matthew sighed, sitting upright and bringing Kumajirou to his lap.

"I fell down again, Kuma. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, and you shouldn't worry about me. I'll manage."

Little did he know that England had long since stepped out of his cold shower, and was now listening intently to their conversation as the bear expressed his worry.

"Why does Canada hide things in his drawer?"

"Kuma, I know you're curious. I know. I've felt like that before too. But this time, just let Canada handle things. It'll be okay, I promise."

Kuma gave a huff, backing off for now.

England leaned his back against the door, holding his hand over his mouth. His eyes were emerald saucers, wide and shocked.

Matthew simply sighed, holding Kuma close.

England chose that moment to escape his steamy hiding place. Matthew involuntarily flinched as he looked curiously towards the Canadian.

His green eyes almost flashed as he passed, making the Canuck tense up and follow him with his eyes. Matthew sighed and got up, walking to the bathroom door.

"I'm going to go shower. Would you mind taking Kumajirou to the kitchen and pouring some more kibble into his bowl? Also, help yourself to microwave my spare pancakes. I'll be down in about ten minutes."

England gave a sharp nod, holding back the questions threatening to overflow. Tears stung his apathetic-appearing eyes as he fled the room, clutching Kumajirou to his chest as he escaped the vice putting the lump in his throat. He felt physically choked by the atmosphere in that room.

England sat Kumajirou down onto the couch, sparking the expected "Food?" from his fuzzy face.

England's emerald orbs drove into Kumajirou's own eyes, and England's set jaw and serious expression kept Kumajirou from complaining any more.

England kept his calm façade, quickly holding Kuma's arms and asking a blunt question.

"What is Canada hiding from me?"

"….he bleeds…"

"He… bleeds… from what?"

"He fell again…"

England decided to leave it at that, turning sharply and leaving into the kitchen. Kibble bits made faint noises as he meticulously poured the bag of food into Kumajirou's bowl.

England remembered a comment about drawers, and faintly wondered if that was where Canada was hiding his medical supplies. As he was making his way back to the room, he heard the fan in the bathroom and decided it was safe to sneak in and spy around his room.

As England opened the bedroom door, Canada opened the bathroom door. His arms were covered by an extra towel.

England started as he was caught in the act, his hands crossing politely behind his back as he averted his eyes.

Matthew blushed furiously at that, ushering Arthur out of his room and slamming the door. His hands shook weakly as he covered what he could of his body.

_Sweatshirt, where are you? Where is that damned thing?_

He found it, finally, on his stained carpet. He pushed his arms through the worn sleeves and sighed, looking at the full-length mirror hanging on his wall. His chest was only lightly muscled, reason being that the only exercise he ever got was the occasional hockey game he played, and even then it was just a light game. He sighed again in resignation, looking at the body he was slowly ruining. He looked too feminine in his opinion, with sparkling purple eyes and pale, lifeless lips. His legs, clothed in skin-tight jeans, were spindly and frail.

The lack of food had taken its toll on his thin frame, making his collarbones prominent and sickly-looking, and his hipbones jutted out at a sharp angle.

Canada sighed. His eyes were tired enough as it was, and they were losing their shine. As he headed to the bathroom a final time, he scrubbed his teeth harshly and meticulously and set his glasses straight onto his face.

England waited patiently on the couch. His thick eyebrows creased nervously as he noticed the extended waiting time.

As he was about to investigate, Matthew emerged from his cave, a rolling suitcase behind him. His backpack was red and white with a cute little bear clip on its zipper. He remembered his brother calling it gay when he bought it, but he liked the one plus it provided: its durability allowed him to haul Kumajirou with him, and he had enough room for a sketchbook.

England quickly rose from his seat, watching Kumajirou pull at Matthew's sleeve to get his attention. Matthew flinched from the chafing of the thin, rough fabric at his arms.

He quickly gathered a bundle of lightweight sweaters from his closet and stuffed them into his backpack. Then, he scooped Kumajirou into his thin arms and into the backpack. Kumajirou seemed disgruntled by the sudden change, but said nothing, opting to feel his owner's shoulder blades through the backpack. Kumajirou sighed, knowing this wasn't right. His owner was naturally muscular, normally…

Canada quickly opened the front door, grabbing England's luggage as well as his own. England noted painfully the struggle he had opening the trunk of his car to load the luggage into it. England sighed, wondering how on earth his little Canada had become this way, and why.

Was it his own fault? He raised him to be strong and courteous, but to hold his tongue. His opinions were often unheard as it was. Did he lead him to believe he was more invisible than ever?

Canada was a natural introvert; there was nothing to be done about that. England knew this better than anyone, even France. France refused to accept Canada even having a personality, let alone having an introverted one. England knew he was partially responsible, and that was why he felt almost a _connection _to Canada in a way. Growing up, England was constantly worrying about himself and himself alone. How could he ever try to allow someone else in when he had to fend for himself? He guessed to himself that maybe his own personality had rubbed off on Canada in a way.

England pondered this as Canada pulled out of his garage into the street nearby, driving with meticulous care out onto the freeway nearby. England glanced over at Canada and sighed. Canada was different in his own way. Canada cared about everyone else before himself. He was utterly selfless. It was troubling to England in a way, since Canada wasn't too worried about his economy at the moment. Overall, it seemed he spent too much time worrying about Alfred.

Alfred…

_Alfred… how am I supposed to care for Matthew with Alfred hanging all over him?_

Meanwhile, Canada was worrying excessively over his current situation with the vacation. Razors were his main concern.

_Where can I even buy razors in France? Where can I even buy these things? _

As Canada finally pulled into the lot, England realized something.

_France's personality affected Canada in different ways. Canada is antisocial romantically… but he cares about others with a passion. It's like the good qualities in Canada come from both France and I… _

Canada walked quickly, glancing at his watch. The trunk was hoisted open and Canada soon had all the bags in his care. England quickly stepped in and took two, and the two nations headed for the airport.

**IT'S UP TO YOU NOW TO MAKE ME UPDATE I'M EXTREMELY LAZY AND/OR SAD**

**DROP A REVIEW, I DON'T CARE IF IT'S GUEST~**

**See you later my chipmunks(:**


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